A play about Ezra Pound
by
Billy Marshall Stoneking
Copyright © 1991
Billy Marshall Stoneking
Email: stoneking31@yahoo.com
Introductory Note
In 1943, the American poet, Ezra Pound, was indicted by the United States
government on the charge of treason. It had been alleged that Pound, an
American citizen, had made anti-American broadcasts during the war over
Italian radio, and that these same broadcasts had give “aid and comfort”
to the enemy.
His wife, friends and colleagues, mindful of the war-born passions of the
time, and fearing for his life, urged him to enter a plea of insanity as
a means of escaping the death penalty. This he did, and the court subsequently
upheld the plea. However, instead of releasing him into the care of his wife -
as had been expected - the government confined him to St Elizabeth’s Hospital
in Washington, D.C., an institution that housed hundreds of the criminally
insane. Pound, “one of the great literary figures of our time”, would remain
incarcerated at St Elizabeth’s for nearly thirteen years.
Characters
Ezra Pound: The American poet. Early 70s.
Woman: A psychiatrist from the Justice
Department, Washington, D.C. Mid-30s.
Betsy: A university student from New York.
Early 20s.
Scene
Ezra Pound’s room, Chestnut Ward
St Elizabeth’s Hospital
Washington, D.C.
Time
Late winter/early spring, 1958.
___________________________________________
NOTE: The author recommends that actors and directors listen to
Ezra Pound Reading, Vols. 1 & 2 (Caedmon Records, TC 1122 and
TC 1155), which contain Pound’s poetry as read by him. The present
play was written with Pound’s voice in mind.
ACT ONE
SETTING:
A private room in Chestnut Ward, St Elizabeth’s Hospital, Washington,
D.C. – the bowels of a derelict submarine: wadded-up paper, trampled
books, battered cardboard boxes, old paint tins, tools and discarded
newspapers, dirty clothes, a couple of tennis rackets, a few dusty oil
paintings, etc. - the cargo hold on a voyage to the dead.
Suspended over the chaos, running the length of the room, are several
strands of twine (like clotheslines) to which clippings, letters, charts
and sheaves of manuscripts have been attached: an extravagant if not
highly eccentric filing system that can be raised or lowered at will
by the manipulation of an number of
AT RISE:
Elvis Presley’s Heartbreak Hotel blares out of the shadows, then slowly
recedes into the body of a chunky “Bakelite” radio on top of the fridge. T
he room is dark, but one can still see thanks to a hopeful beam of light.
A gray-haired old man, dwarfed by a larger-than-life desk, hunches over
an antique typewriter, asleep. His clothes are disheveled; his hair, uncombed.
HE is the poet - EZRA POUND.
The music continues...
The door to the room opens, and a well-dressed WOMAN, briefcase in hand,
steps into the door frame, pauses for a moment, then enters. SHE flicks
on the lights, switches off the radio, looks round the room, slightly
disgusted by the mess. SHE peruses the filing system, scrutinizes the
desk, and scans the unmade bed. SHE runs her index finger along the top
of the dresser, checking for dust.
POUND
(In his sleep)
“They will come no more… the old men
with the eautiful manners.”
(The WOMAN removes her
overcoat and drapes it on the
back of a chair. SHE takes a
pad & pencil from her briefcase
and turns to POUND)
POUND (Continued)
“O! O god! Our god is a gallant foe that
playeth behind the veil.”
(HE emits a drawn-out moan,
then raises his head. HE runs
his fingers through his hair. His
eyes dart over the topography
of the desk, as if HE might
be searching for something HE
has misplaced. HE sighs)
(The WOMAN moves closer.
Sensing her presence, POUND
turns in his chair. Their eyes
meet. POUND blinks, as if trying
to dispel an apparition. HE
reaches out, tentatively, as if
to test whether or not SHE
is real. SHE pulls away)
POUND (Continued)
A dream?
WOMAN
The Department of Justice.
POUND
Ah. A nightmare, then.
WOMAN
Doctor Overholser suggested the corridor,
but I thought it might be more comfortable if
we met in your room.
(POUND glances round at the mess)
POUND
Gives new meaning to the word “digs”, wouldn’t
you say?
(Beat)
Where’s the other one?
WOMAN
The other one?
POUND
The man. They usually send a man.
WOMAN
You mean Doctor Steiner.
POUND
That’s the one! Gawd, that man could talk. Never
could get a word in edgewise.
WOMAN
You made quite an impression on him.
POUND
He liked the way I listened. We almost knew each
other.
WOMAN
He talked a lot about you.
POUND
Always brought a bottle of whisky with him. The
cheap stuff. Usually finished it, too. Why isn’t he here?
WOMAN
Doctor Steiner won’t be coming anymore.
POUND
Why not?
WOMAN
He’s not with the Department any more.
POUND
Found another line of work, did he?
WOMAN
Retired.
POUND
Pity. Lasted much longer than the others.
WOMAN
I’ll be handling your case from now on. My name is…
POUND
Must be the catalyst.
(Beat)
WOMAN
Pardon me?
POUND
Waal, I don’t normally see people on Tuesdays. Busy
schedule, you know.
WOMAN
Today is Friday, Mr Pound.
POUND
Friday! Well, there you have it! Three days lost already.
WOMAN
Doctor Overholser told you I was coming, didn’t he?
POUND
Overholser!
WOMAN
He said he’d spoken to you about it.
POUND
Who else is here?
(Peering at the audience)
You’ve brought someone with you.
WOMAN
No one.
POUND
Don’t lie to me. I can hear them.
WOMAN
Mr Pound, there’s no one here…
POUND
Shush! Listen.
(They listen)
POUND (Continued)
Sometimes I have the distinct impression I’m in
a theatre. Everything’s so goddamned unreal.
WOMAN
A theatre?
POUND
Yeah.
WOMAN
What sort of theatre?
POUND
Oh, I don’t know. An ordinary theatre. An ordinary
theatre with an ordinary audience.
(Waving to someone in the
audience)
Hell-lo! Hello, Doctor Overholser! I can see you!
(To WOMAN)
Two-way mirror. Part of the their therapy program. Can’t
scratch your ass without the feeling someone’s watching.
(HE moves to his dresser,
opens a drawer and takes out
a large sweater with bright,
geometrical designs on it)
WOMAN
You think Doctor Overholser is spying on you?
POUND
The man’s a virtual peeping tom. Bloody
unnerving. Everybody’s so goddamned preoccupied
with my private affairs. Voyeurism! It’s all the
go these days.
WOMAN
I’m sure Doctor Overholser respects your privacy.
POUND
Don’t bullshit me. The man hangs on every word.
The thought he might actually miss something terrifies
him.
WOMAN
He was telling me this morning that you seem quite
contented here.
POUND
He would. Contended! Huh!
(Picks lint from his sweater)
WOMAN
He was telling me that you’re one of his best patients.
POUND
Wish I could say the same for him.
WOMAN
He seems to enjoy having you on the ward.
POUND
Oh yes, if lost me his entire social life would evaporate.
The man is voracious. Last week, he wanted to know
everything I could tell him about Georgian poetry. Yesterday
it was Byzantine art. And tomorrow… tomorrow…?
(Referring to his diary)
Ah yes! Tomorrow he’s pencilled in Confucius. Egad!
There’s no rest from it. I must be the only person on the
planet the man can have a serious conversation with.
WOMAN
Perhaps he thinks your ideas are worth listening to.
POUND
Anyone who listens that closely can’t be trusted.
WOMAN
He trusts you.
POUND
To a point, my dear, to a point. Only because he knows
where he can find me. Why, just the other day he was
convinced Bill Williams was trying to sneak in contraband.
Can you imagine it?
WOMAN
Contraband?
POUND
Oh yes!
So much depends
upon
a sharpened hacksaw,
glazed with cherries,
inside the homemade
fruitcake.
(Beat)
The man knows absolutely nothing about poets. And
even less about me.
(Goes on picking lint)
WOMAN
Thinks you’re going to escape, does he?
POUND
You’ve heard! Ah yes. Over-hauler’s little wager? He’s
betting Barnes that Frost is going to spring me. He’s got
five bucks riding on it.
WOMAN
Really!
POUND
Five bucks, I know. A real gambler.
(HE slips into the sweater)
So, whaddaya reckon? A bit loud?
WOMAN
No. Not at all. It’s very becoming. It’s… it’s you.
POUND
A spinster in Schnectady, New York, made it for me.
Knitted it herself. Blind since birth. Took her three and
a half years. A real fan.
(Goes on picking lint, then looks
up)
POUND (Continued)
What’re you staring at?
WOMAN
Was I staring?
POUND
I don’t care what you call it. You were looking at me.
WOMAN
I’m sorry. It’s just that, well… I would’ve taken you
to be a much bigger man.
POUND
Everyone’s a critic. Actually, I am not as short as I
look. It’s just that the ceilings are a mite high.
(HE gathers up a stack of
newspapers and magazines
from a chair and drops it on
the floor)
Take a seat, my dear. Make yourself at mental home.
WOMAN
Thank you.
(SHE crosses to the chair)
POUND
Ignore the mess. It’s always like this.
(SHE sits)
WOMAN
I’d like to ask you a few questions… if you wouldn’t
mind.
(POUND picks up a plate of
leftover pate. HE sniffs it)
POUND
Dammit! I thought pate lasted forever.
(HE chucks the plate of pate
into a wastepaper basket, and
begins tidying up)
WOMAN
Mr Pound?
(HE continues to tidy up)
WOMAN
Mr Pound!
POUND
What?
WOMAN
I was thinking we might have a little chat… you know,
about some of your ideas.
POUND
I loathe chats.
WOMAN
There’s no need to think of me as the enemy. I assure
you, that’s not my role.
POUND
Now I’m worried.
WOMAN
I can imagine what you must be feeling.
POUND
I don’t think so. But what about you? What’re you feeling?
(Moving closer)
Ah yes… I see.
WOMAN
What?
POUND
It’s all over your face.
WOMAN
What is?
POUND
Don’t be so coy. Look in the mirror. Go on. There’s
no use trying to hide it. You can’t hide it!
WOMAN
Hide what?
POUND
It’s all right. I’m used to it.
WOMAN
I’m not hiding anything, Mr Pound.
POUND
I can take it.
WOMAN
What?
POUND
Doesn’t bother me in the slightest.
WOMAN
What’re you talking about?
POUND
You think I’m paranoid, don’t you?
WOMAN
Paranoid?
POUND
Yes! See how it just rolls off the tongue?
WOMAN
Overly sensitive, maybe, but I’d hardly think you’re…
POUND
You bet I’m sensitive! I’ve watched ‘em. I know all
about ‘em.
WOMAN
Who?
POUND
The people in charge here. The clipboard brigade.
The way they huddle in corners. They don’t think
I notice, but I do. The Inquisition was organized
by people like that, y’know.
WOMAN
Why do you think you’re here, Mr Pound?
POUND
They didn’t tell you!
(In utter disgust)
Bureaucrats!
WOMAN
I’d like to know what you think.
POUND
Well, that certainly puts you in the minority. Have
you read my poems?
WOMAN
No.
POUND
Essays?
WOMAN
I’m afraid not.
POUND
What about my Guide to Kulchur?
WOMAN
Not yet.
POUND
Not a scrap?
WOMAN
Sorry.
POUND
And you’re interested in what I think?
WOMAN
I’m interested in what you have to say.
POUND
What about the translations, then? Or the play?
WOMAN
I diagrammed sentences in high school English, and
studied math and science at college.
POUND
What do you read?
WOMAN
Well… let me see… there’s, uh, American Medicine,
and… The New England Medical Journal… Psychiatry
And Health… oh yes, and, uh, Gone With The Wind.
POUND
Gone With the Wind?
WOMAN
By Margaret Mitchell.
POUND
Stepped in front of a bus, didn’t she?
WOMAN
I think it was an automobile.
POUND
That’s right. Hit and run. Some people have all the luck.
(POUND moves away from the
WOMAN, then, in a bizarre display
of fatigue, stretches out on the floor.
HE twists and turns, trying to make
himself as flat as possible)
WOMAN
Mr Pound?
(Beat)
Mr Pound?
(Pause)
(HE sits up)
POUND
There it is again! Did you hear that?
WOMAN
What?
POUND
Someone laughing.
WOMAN
Where?
POUND
Sort of…
(Gesturing)
Sort of there.
(SHE listens)
WOMAN
I can’t hear anything.
POUND
Shush!
WOMAN
It was probably one of the other patients…
(POUND gets to his feet)
WOMAN (Continued)
Or termites.
POUND
Termites don’t laugh.
WOMAN
It’s a very old building.
POUND
They laugh in old buildings?
WOMAN
No one’s laughing, Mr Pound.
POUND
I bet we’d be able to see them if I turned out the lights.
Will I turn out the lights?
WOMAN
I don’t think that’ll be necessary.
POUND
But you won’t be able to see them with the lights
on, not unless they light a match, and they’re not
allowed to smoke.
WOMAN
No, Not in a theatre.
POUND
Now you’re catching on.
(HE switches the lights off.
Darkness)
WOMAN
Mr Pound!
(Beat)
Ouch!
POUND
Sorry.
WOMAN
Mr Pound, where have you gone?
(Chair noises, banging)
WOMAN (Continued)
This is ridiculous.
POUND
Can you see them?
WOMAN
Who?
POUND
The people.
WOMAN
What people?
POUND
Give it a minute. Let the eyes adjust. Extraordinary
what you can see once the eyes adjust.
WOMAN
I can’t see a thing.
POUND
Patience, my dear.
WOMAN
Please turn on the lights, Mr Pound.
POUND
Oh yes, yes… I’m starting to see something now…
over there… on the left.
WOMAN
I’m going to call the orderly, Mr Pound.
POUND
Wait! Can’t you see that?
WOMAN
Where?
POUND
You’ve got eyes, don’t you?
WOMAN
There’s nothing to see.
(SHE switches on the light)
(POUND is standing on top
of his desk, staring out at the
audience. HE turns to the
WOMAN)
POUND
What’re you doing?
WOMAN
Would you mind coming down.
POUND
What for?
WOMAN
I want to talk to you.
POUND
Did you see them?
WOMAN
(Angrily)
Would you please come down!
POUND
But there’s a whole group of ‘em.
WOMAN
I know.
(POUND steps on to a chair)
POUND
And they’re watching us. Both of us!
WOMAN
Maybe if we mind our own business they’ll go away.
POUND
No, I’ve tried that. It only encourages ‘em.
WOMAN
Well, then we’ll just have to encourage them a little
more.
POUND
It’s not like you think.
WOMAN
Please, Mr Pound.
POUND
(To audience)
Maggots!
(HE steps from the chair to the
floor)
WOMAN
Sit down.
(HE sits)
WOMAN (Continued)
Thank you.
(SHE sits)
The Justice Department is reviewing your case for the
purpose of ascertaining your mental competency. They’ve
asked me to make an assessment. Based on my findings
and the doctors’ reports, a recommendation will be made
about your fitness to answer the charges against you.
POUND
Usual bureaucratic balls-up, eh?
WOMAN
Routine procedure.
POUND
Probably would’ve been easier if I’d hung myself.
WOMAN
The government wants your case settled, one way
or the other. That’s why I’m here.
POUND
Well, what’s it been now? Eleven, twelve years? And
still no trial. I’d say you haven’t come a moment too soon.
WOMAN
You were the one who pleaded insanity.
POUND
Bad legal advice. Do I look like I have a screw loose?
(HE smiles)
WOMAN
Treason is punishable by death, Mr Pound.
POUND
So is life, my dear.
WOMAN
They can still send you to the electric chair, you know.
POUND
I ain’t skeerd.
WOMAN
You understand what I’m saying?
POUND
Oh yes, I understand plenty. It’s all the other crap the
law doesn’t cover that confuses me.
WOMAN
Such as?
POUND
The sanctified stupidities! The whole structure of what
we so glibly refer to as modern civilization. What about
all that?
WOMAN
What about it?
POUND
You tell me.
WOMAN
What do you want me to say?
POUND
The truth.
WOMAN
I’m afraid the committee’s judging you, Mr Pound.
Society isn’t part of the brief.
POUND
Oh, I see. Yes. That explains everything. Of course.
The memo mentality. Cogs in the wheel. Right. I almost
forgot. “Whom God would destroy, he first puts into the
hands of the public service!” Silly me. Silly old fart. For
a moment there I almost thought poetry could make a
difference in the world. My mistake. Obviously it is the
brief writers who have the power in this country. I was
merely succinct.
WOMAN
This doesn’t have anything to do with poetry, Mr Pound.
POUND
No, goddammit! It’s about usury and decay. The
destruction of everything Adams and Jefferson stood
for. The nation’s wealth reduced to interest payments,
and managed by a few individuals for private profit
without any kind of production whatsoever. Greed
before bread, Mediocrity cloaked in graft.
WOMAN
The question is: are you capable of defending yourself.
POUND
You mean am I crazy.
WOMAN
If it’s decided that you’re mental faculties are such that
you can mount a reasonable defense, then you’ll have
your day in court.
POUND
And if I’m nuts?
WOMAN
Then you will stay here.
POUND
For the rest of my life?
WOMAN
Until you’re able to answer the charges.
POUND
Well I ain’t guilty, and the bastards know it. The only
reason they keep me cooped up here is so I can’t tell the
truth about ‘em.
WOMAN
Some of your descriptions of President Roosevelt were
pretty extreme. People aren’t likely to forget that sort of
thing.
POUND
I only said what was true.
WOMAN
Over the radio.
POUND
And what about freedom of speech? Or don’t that apply
to poets no more?
WOMAN
The Constitution applies to everyone, Mr Pound.
POUND
Well, freedom of speech is mockery if it don’t include
free speech over the radio.
WOMAN
That doesn’t mean you can say anything you like.
POUND
The theatre was on fire, my dear!
WOMAN
You said this country was run by pigs.
POUND
I only gave ‘em the facts.
WOMAN
As you saw them.
POUND
As an American citizen.
WOMAN
You defended Fascism.
POUND
My talks gave pain to the enemy - the real enemy.
WOMAN
I’ve read the transcripts, Mr Pound.
POUND
Then you had better read them again.
WOMAN
You said what you said during wartime.
POUND
To save the Constitution.
WOMAN
By undermining the government?
POUND
By trying to bust a racket! You think we elect the
people who run this country? Political bug-wash!
It’s private interest that runs this country. I tell
you, there’s a conspiracy against decency and justice
going on out there, and it’s going on right now!
WOMAN
Hitler and Mussolini were the conspirators.
POUND
Bilge!
WOMAN
You think they cared about decency and justice? The
history of America was made by people who gave their
lives to fight that kind of hatred and intolerance.
POUND
The history of this country was made by men who kept
their names out of it so’s they wouldn’t get caught.
WOMAN
I don’t believe that.
POUND
Believe whatever you like. A man still has the right to
defend himself, to have his ideas examined one at a time.
(The WOMAN stares back at him,
then looks down and consults her
note pad)
WOMAN
I understand you’re a close friend of the novelist, James
Joyce.
POUND
Ah yes. Joyce and I speak regularly.
WOMAN
He lives in Washington?
POUND
No. No, as a matter of fact, he’s dead.
WOMAN
I’m sorry.
POUND
These things happen.
WOMAN
Nevertheless, there seem to be a number of living writers
who see you as the most important literary figure of the
twentieth century.
POUND
And no one believes ‘em.
WOMAN
Ernest Hemingway says you taught him everything he
knows about writing. T.S. Eliot refers to you as a genius.
POUND
Where’s it say that?
WOMAN
They’ve signed a petition. The one Robert Frost is sending
round. They’re calling you the father of modern poetry.
POUND
Hmmm… does have a certain ring about it, doesn’t it?
WOMAN
You like that, don’t you?
POUND
What damn good has it done?
WOMAN
You’re practically a household name.
POUND
That’s what my wife says.
WOMAN
You’re famous.
POUND
A smidgen of a reputation, my dear. Nothing to get
excited about, though. Nothing approaching that of Mr
Eisenhower’s in any case.
WOMAN
President Eisenhower isn’t a writer.
POUND
No. But I’m sure he’s working on it. At least he can
get to a good library when he needs one. By the way,
how’s the golf game?
WOMAN
Still shooting in the low 90s, I believe.
POUND
Good. Great game, golf. Impossible, though, in a room
this size.
(The WOMAN scribbles a note
in her pad. POUND cranes his
neck to read it)
POUND (Continued)
Getting it all down?
(Reminding her)
“… room this size.”
WOMAN
Thank you.
POUND
Don’t mention it.
(HE moves to his bed, lies
down)
WOMAN
Doctor Barnes has been a little disturbed.
POUND
You’ve noticed!
WOMAN
He thinks you talk in circles.
POUND
Graphic imagination, that boy.
WOMAN
He believes you’re suffering from some kind of severe
self-deception.
POUND
Cat-piss.
WOMAN
You don’t like Doctor Barnes, do you?
POUND
(With accent)
Waal, let’s jus’ say he ain’t as entertainin’ as Elvis
Presley.
WOMAN
He’s assembled quite an impression amount of data
concerning your case.
POUND
Barnes is a scientist. He has an abiding faith in the
proposition that everything can be reduced to numbers.
WOMAN
He is also a highly qualified doctor.
POUND
He equates health with servility.
WOMAN
He was telling me you talk in your sleep. He said
you do it almost every night.
POUND
Last bastion of free speech in this country, my dear.
WOMAN
At first he thought it was only gibberish, but now he
isn’t so sure. He had the impression you were mumbling
names.
(POUND sits up)
POUND
Names? What sort of names?
WOMAN
He thought they sounded foreign. You speak several
languages, don’t you?
POUND
I can ask for the bathroom in Latin, if that’s what
you mean.
(HE pulls an apple from the
bedclothes, polishes it on his
sleeve)
(The WOMAN consults her
notepad. SHE thumbs through
the pages until SHE finds what
SHE’s looking for)
WOMAN
What does Wool-long-gong mean to you?
POUND
Come again?
WOMAN
(Reading from pad)
“Wool-long-gong”.
POUND
Is it s’pose to mean something?
WOMAN
You tell me.
POUND
Woolen-gong… Woolen gong. Hmm. What a strange
concept.
WOMAN
Why’s that?
POUND
A woolen gong. You wouldn’t be able to hear it!
(The WOMAN stares back,
then consults her pad again)
WOMAN
What about. . .
(Reads)
“Warr-nam-bool”?
POUND
Warr-nam-bool… Warr-nam-bool. No, I don’t think
I know this language.
WOMAN
(Reading)
“Wand-jina.”
POUND
Wand-jina?
WOMAN
That’s what it says…
(Spelling it)
W-A-N-D-…
POUND
What is this? Verbal ink blots?
WOMAN
They’re some of the words you’ve mumbling in your
sleep. The orderly, Mr Brierson, wrote them down.
POUND
Brierson!
WOMAN
He thought they might be part of a code.
POUND
Gawd, I wish he’d find a hobby!
WOMAN
They’re not code words?
POUND
My dear woman, our greatest problem is that almost
everything is a goddamned code. We do not know what
is real any more. Every gesture is symbolic. A man
cannot shit short of some pundit discovering hidden
meaning in it. Even having children is metaphor. Hence,
we cannot trust ourselves; and, therefore, we do not trust
anybody. No my dear, I do not believe in codes, and even
if I did I certainly would not use one in my sleep!
(HE takes a bite from the
apple & chews vigorously)
WOMAN
Doctor Barnes thinks they may be the names of places
in Australia.
POUND
Auss’ralia?
WOMAN
That’s what he said. You made several references to
Australia in the radio broadcasts. You suggested selling
it to the Jews, I believe.
POUND
Barnes has been to Auss’ralia, has he?
WOMAN
I don’t think so.
POUND
Well, how the hell would he know?
WOMAN
I believe he found them in his crossword puzzle dictionary.
POUND
That’d be right. Mind like a steel trap.
WOMAN
Do you do crosswords?
POUND
Not if I can help it. Though now that you mention it, I
do remember Barnes asking me for a six-letter word
beginning with “B” - name of an Auss’ralian wild horse.
WOMAN
And?
POUND
I called him a “bastud”… and he wrote that down!
(Pause)
WOMAN
You correspond with several Australians, don’t you?
POUND
I read The Edge.
WOMAN
The edge?
POUND
You know! A literary journal.
WOMAN
Really!
POUND
They can read, my dear.
WOMAN
I didn’t mean it like that.
POUND
Waal, it’s not all kangaroos and beer, y’know.
WOMAN
I know. It’s just that… well, when I think about Australia...
it always seems so large and empty and faraway.
POUND
Idaho is worse.
WOMAN
But Idaho is connected to something bigger.
POUND
So is Auss’ralia! Under the ocean.
(POUND places his apple
on the edge of the desk, and
picks up a pair of binoculars)
Damn things are permanently out of focus.
(Holds them to his eyes)
Government issue. Have a look.
(SHE takes them)
POUND (Continued)
The illusion of vistas.
(SHE puts the binoculars down)
POUND (Continued)
Maybe it was something I ate. This talking in my sleep…
maybe it’s the food.
WOMAN
Or something from your past.
POUND
You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
WOMAN
Tell me about Australia. What do you know about it?
POUND
Not much.
WOMAN
What have you heard? What have you read?
POUND
I can’t see what this has to do with my mental competency.
WOMAN
It is interesting, though. The names you’ve been saying.
POUND
What comes out of the mouth doesn’t necessarily
explain anything… although…
(Beat)
WOMAN
What?
POUND
Never mind. It’s not important.
WOMAN
What were you going to say?
POUND
Nothing. I’ve talked too much.
WOMAN
But we’ve only just started.
POUND
We have?
WOMAN
Tell me what you were going to say.
POUND
I don’t think so.
WOMAN
Why not?
POUND
Why should I?
WOMAN
It might be important.
POUND
Who for?
WOMAN
For me.
POUND
More grist for the note pad, eh?
WOMAN
I want to understand you.
POUND
Uh-huh.
WOMAN
Please.
(Pause)
POUND
All right, then.
(POUND sits down next to the
WOMAN)
Ever walked naked in a desert?
WOMAN
Pardon me?
POUND
You know… taken off your clothes and walked
naked, in a desert.
(HE waits for her a reply,
but there is none)
A desert.
(Beat)
I knew you wouldn’t understand.
WOMAN
You’re not making yourself very clear, Mr Pound.
POUND
No. That’s the problem. Words cannot do everything.
You would’ve had to have been there.
WOMAN
Where?
POUND
(Sighs)
Find a desert, take off your clothes, and walk! The
sense of vulnerability is exhilarating. To feel the wind
on your skin; the hot sand on the soles of your feet.
To be part of the Earth.
WOMAN
I see.
POUND
Well ?
WOMAN
I’m a Methodist. I mean, well… I was raised a Methodist.
My parents were Methodists.
POUND
Methodist… Jew… Taoist… it hardly matters, my dear.
WOMAN
I had a grandmother who was a nudist.
POUND
Good Gawd!
WOMAN
Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. We promised we’d never
tell anyone outside the family. I mean, well, we all thought
of her as the black sheep, but…
POUND
Don’t apologize.
WOMAN
I’m not!
POUND
Sounds like it.
WOMAN
Well, I’m wasn’t.
POUND
Good.
(Beat)
You wouldn’t happen to be against the death penalty
by any chance?
WOMAN
We’re not here to talk about me, Mr Pound.
POUND
No. Quite right. How rude of me. It’s just that when you
mentioned your grandmother…
WOMAN
We were talking about Australia.
POUND
Yes. Auss’ralia.
WOMAN
Well?
POUND
Well what?
WOMAN
Tell us about it.
POUND
Us?
WOMAN
Me.
POUND
Whaddaya wanna hear?
WOMAN
Whatever you’d like.
(Pause)
POUND
Auss’ralia, eh?
(HE thinks)
Waal., uh… let’s see… it’s the, uh, oldest piece of dry
land on earth.
WOMAN
(Taking notes)
Yes.
POUND
And, uh… it has a parliamentary democracy.
WOMAN
Uh-huh.
POUND
Gave women the vote years before us Americans even
thought of it… and, uh… uh…
WOMAN
Go on.
POUND
It’s the home of the Pintupi.
WOMAN
What?
POUND
Did I say that?
WOMAN
You said home of the…
POUND
The Pin-tupi. An obscure Aboriginal tribe. You’ll find a
reference or two in The Pisan Cantos.
WOMAN
An Aboriginal tribe!
POUND
Oh yes.
WOMAN
I never realized your interests extended as far as… as
Aborigines.
POUND
You find that peculiar?
WOMAN
There’s no mention of it in your file.
(She notes this in her notebook)
POUND
There is now.
WOMAN
How did you come to write about the Aborigines?
You haven't ben to Australia, have you?
POUND
Six weeks cooped up in a cage! Damn thing a
dog kennel. Concrete floor. One remembers the
craziest things.
WOMAN
You’ve read about them, then.
POUND
It’s not all in books.
WOMAN
So?
POUND
So imagine: no books, no libraries, no bank accounts, no
clothes! You wanna know where civilization screws up?
It wears clothes when it should be naked, and is naked when
it should be wearing clothes. Europe, for example.
WOMAN
Europe?
POUND
Ah yes!
Yoo-rup! How wonderfully plump!
Gluttonous to the core!
Force-fed and filled up
from early infantry to Murder in the Cathedral.
Conceived out of cave men and cave women.
Terrorized by saber-tooth and frost;
devoid of pulchritude.
Familiar and strange as the parts
of one’s body one never sees.
Or the eyes of eagles lost
in machines evolved from earth
and trees in the heartland
of indolent factories…
WOMAN
Mr Pound…
POUND
Vast armies of sculptures,
bastion-like with retinues of scribes
and chanting. Crowded in
backs against the weather.
Crowding - a goad for competition.
Fighting makes the blood hot, you know.
And makes the bankers even richer.
Two thousand years of kulchur
to make a habit of Art!
And what have we actually produced?
Corruption. Bankruptcy. Wars. The higher maggotry! Not
like the Aborigines!
(POUND picks up the apple,
snaps off another chunk, and
tosses the core over his
shoulder)
(Pause)
WOMAN
Was that one of your own compositions?
POUND
You liked it?
WOMAN
Not particularly. Something you're working on??
POUND
No.
WOMAN
It sounded like a poem.
POUND
I make a point never to write poems while I’m being
interviewed.
WOMAN
It was very passionate.
POUND
Thank you.
WOMAN
And a little frightening.
POUND
You’re fishing.
WOMAN
I think Australia might be a very important
key to unlocking what’s inside of you.
POUND
What about what’s outside of me?
WOMAN
Australia was a prison colony, wasn’t it?
POUND
The English sent their children there for stealing loaves
of bread.
WOMAN
It must have been terrible.
POUND
The British have always had an interest in prisons.
Building them, I mean. Industrious little buggers with
an obsession for security.
WOMAN
POUND
What?
WOMAN
Maybe you see some parallel between Australia and
your time here.
POUND
Too obvious.
WOMAN
But not impossible.
POUND
Nothing’s impossible, my dear.
WOMAN
Do you ever dream?
POUND
(With suspicion)
Why?
WOMAN
You were having a dream when I came in.
POUND
After you came in.
(Beat)
This part of the investigation?
WOMAN
Does it make you nervous?
POUND
Should it? Reckon I might let something slip, eh?
WOMAN
I shouldn’t think so.
POUND
You following all this?
WOMAN
Avidly.
POUND
Good.
WOMAN
So… can you remember any of your dreams?
POUND
How do you know I won’t just make something up?
WOMAN
I don’t.
(Pause)
POUND
Waal… there is one, one that recurs.
WOMAN
Is it always the same?
POUND
Always the same, more or less. Quite odd, really.
WOMAN
Can you tell me about it?
POUND
Well… there’s red earth… and, uh, stone implements.
Axe-heads, that sort of thing, on the ground. And, uh… a
mountainous horizon… strange-looking trees… silence.
Oh yeah, and rabbit shit.
WOMAN
Pardon me?
POUND
Well, I’m no expert, but it’s about the right size.
WOMAN
Is it vivid?
POUND
Rabbit shit?
WOMAN
The dream.
POUND
Oh! No, no, not vivid. More like seeing everything
through a smoke haze. Where do you s’pose they come
from? Dreams.
WOMAN
It’s an interesting question… a difficult question.
POUND
I’m not going anywhere.
WOMAN
Oh? I thought you said you were busy.
POUND
You’ve changed my mind.
WOMAN
I see.
POUND
So tell me… dreams.
WOMAN
Well… I’ve always tended to see them as expressions
of an individual’s unacted desires and urges. Repressed
emotions and drives are symbolically lived out in dream
states.
(POUND becomes increasingly
restless as SHE continues)
WOMAN (Continued)
The entire history of the human race, theoretically, can
be understood in terms of repression. The conscious mind
is only a very small part of the total picture. In civilized
societies, we find these repressed urges bubbling up in
dreams. They may not be…
(Beat)
Are you listening, Mr Pound?
POUND
The Freudian angle, eh?
WOMAN
You don’t agree with Freud?
POUND
We spend twelve hundred generations developing so-
called civilization to the point where it produces an
expert who can offer us salvation from our superstitions,
and all we end up with is another superstition! If it takes
someone like Freud to save us from our neuroses, what’s it
gonna take to save us from Freud?
WOMAN
Oh, I get it. Freud. Of course. He’s Jewish. Freud’s Jewish,
and you think the Jews…
POUND
I thought we were talking dreams.
WOMAN
We are.
POUND
“Viennese sewage! America’s been up Freud’s asshole for
twenty years.”
WOMAN
But the fact that he’s Jewish…
POUND
PussyKIKEeatrists! The conspiracy of Jews is responsible
for everything wrong with the world, including the publishing
business! Read TheProtocols. The Ten Commandments is
“Chewlaw”. A lot of regulations not based on any ethic
whatsodam but merely aimed at imposing fines for the benefit
of priests and levys. The jew book has been filling bughouses
with nuts ever since they set up such institutions.
WOMAN
That’s a very harsh assessment.
POUND
What they’ve done to mankind is worse.
WOMAN
You had a lot to say about them in the radio broadcasts,
didn’t you?
POUND
I wouldn’t hurt a fly.
(The WOMAN consults her note
pad)
WOMAN
On the ninth of April, 1942, you said that “… the United
States has been invaded by vermin, meaning the Jews, and
that Roosevelt belonged in an insane asylum…”
POUND
Too good for him.
WOMAN
On the twenty-third of April, you told your audience that
if the American public had had the sense to eliminate
Roosevelt and his Jews or the Jews and their Roosevelt at
the last election, America would’ve never gone to war.
POUND
They’ve known for years what I think about ‘em.
WOMAN
You have signed letters with “Heil Hitler” and swastikas.
You’ve even described Hitler as a saint and a martyr. Do
you hate the Jews that much?
POUND
As a whole, no. No, on the whole I have a bigger quarrel
with the Irish. But I can’t see what any of this has to do
with the indictment. I wasn’t indicted for anti-Semitism,
was I?
WOMAN
No.
POUND
Well, I’m glad we can agree on that.
WOMAN
You knew what you were saying, though, didn’t you?
POUND
No one understood a damn thing!
WOMAN
But you knew what you were saying.
(A SIGNIFICANT PAUSE)
POUND
Yes!
WOMAN
You know what Hitler did with traitors, don’t you?
(Beat)
He hung them with piano wire.
(SHE plucks the string of a
mandolin lying on the desk as
SHE gives each victim’s name)
WOMAN (Continued)
Von Witzleben
POUND
A-Flat.
WOMAN
Hase
POUND
C-Major.
WOMAN
Von Stauffenburg.
POUND
No! Stauffenburg was shot. Nothing to do with piano
wire.
(Snatching the mandolin away
from her)
Wonderful imagination, my dear. Taken by music, are
we?
WOMAN
You can’t see it, can you?
POUND
And what about Vivaldi? Or don’t he count?
WOMAN
Lucky for him he wasn’t Jewish.
POUND
Think I would’ve left him unheard, eh?
WOMAN
Do you really hate them that much?
POUND
One must take them individually, my dear.
WOMAN
Not like they were taken at Auschwitz, you mean.
POUND
There weren’t any gas ovens in Italy.
WOMAN
And not very much justice, either.
POUND
Ask the Rothschilds about justice.
WOMAN
And what about the Cohens… and the Blums… and
the Goldsteins?
POUND
Friends of yours, are they?
WOMAN
You seem to have a preoccupation with tribal people.
POUND
My mind wanders. Nomad.
(More emphatic)
No mad!
WOMAN
You think life would’ve been more bearable if the
brown shirts had taken over?
POUND
That’s got nothing to do with it… And stop telling me
what I think!
WOMAN
I’m trying to understand you, Mr Pound.
POUND
Well, you’ll not understand a damn thing until you
understand the money system. How many times do I
have to say it?
WOMAN
Getting angry isn’t going to help.
POUND
“Five million young people without jobs!
One hundred thousand violent crimes!
FOUR million adult illiterates!
3rd term of FDR:
CASE for the prosecution!”
WOMAN
You could say that about a lot of countries.
POUND
But not the richest country in the world.
WOMAN
It’s not as simple as that.
POUND
The truth is always simple. It is only the Lie that is
complicated.
WOMAN
And you have all the answers.
POUND
No country can suppress truth and live well.
WOMAN
And what about patriotism? What about loyalty and
human decency? Don’t they count for anything?
POUND
Oh, I’m all for national pride, my dear. You know me.
But you’re a fool if you think you can have loyalty to
something you don’t understand. The horror is: those in
power know even less about what’s going on than you
do! Or I do! So long as the papers arrive every morning
and the toast don’t burn, we are quite content to believe
it all has meaning. Life in the monkeyhouse.
WOMAN
You’re very lucky, you know, being an American citizen.
In another country, they would’ve thrown away the key.
POUND
Yes, in a free country they keep dangling it in front of your
face, just out of reach.
WOMAN
At least we have equality and freedom of choice.
POUND
Too many choices, too many pies, too many digits, tho’
a finite number of thumbs and fingers; ergo: apple, peach
an’ punkin - even the though of ‘em - don’t seem to satisfy.
America should’ve lost the war. Look how the Japs
prosper!
WOMAN
You are unhappy about the result of the war?
POUND
The trouble with modern warfare is that it never gives you
a chance to kill the right people. And yes, I am unhappy.
(Beat)
You fancy a cup of tea?
WOMAN
No, thank you.
POUND
Good. Nothing so undramatic as a cup of tea.
(Beat)
What about a bagel, then?
WOMAN
Nothing.
POUND
Provolone?
WOMAN
I’m not hungry.
POUND
For anything?
WOMAN
I’ve eaten.
(Pause)
POUND
Maybe there’s nothing to do but give up speaking altogether.
I should’ve taken my day in court when I had the chance.
(The WOMAN makes a note
in her pad. POUND gazes down
at her)
POUND (Continued)
Your pen’s leaking.
(Hands her a tissue)
WOMAN
Thank you.
POUND
Don’t mention it.
(SHE wipes her fingers and her
pen as POUND moves to his
bed and sits down)
WOMAN
Are you satisfied with the treatment you’ve been receiving
here?
POUND
What treatment?
WOMAN
The counseling… the care…
POUND
The bastards haven’t even arrived at a diagnosis!
WOMAN
You have feelings of melancholia?
POUND
In abundance.
WOMAN
Fits of depression?
POUND
Unmitigated!
WOMAN
A sense of isolation?
POUND
It’s not exactly the YMCA
WOMAN
You don’t feel at home in America?
POUND
I live in an insane asylum. Of course I feel at home.
WOMAN
That’s not what I meant.
POUND
Well, you can spend a lifetime getting clear about what
you mean.
(Pause)
WOMAN
What do you want, Mr Pound?
(Pause)
POUND
A new civilization!
(A PROFOUND SILENCE)
WOMAN
If you were to be tried, and acquitted, would you stay
in the United States?
POUND
And go to football games? And the World Series?
WOMAN
Yes.
POUND
(Warming up)
And sing The Star-Spangled Banner… and eat turkey
and cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving… and television?
WOMAN
I suppose.
POUND
Oh!
(Rising)
“Oh, the thought of what America / the thought of what
America / the thought of what America would be like if
the Classics had a wide circulation, oh well, it troubles
my sleep!”
(The WOMAN stares back, nonplussed)
WOMAN
I take it that means no.
POUND
I don’t see that it’s any one’s damn business what I
do when I get out.
WOMAN
There’s some concern your criticisms of the United
States might be exploited by a foreign power.
POUND
Which goes to show how little they know about history.
I certainly don’t feel like going anywhere, not until I get
my say.
WOMAN
You can say whatever you like.
POUND
In court!
WOMAN
You had the chance. You pleaded insanity.
POUND
I hadn’t realized before what a compliment it was to
be hanged.
WOMAN
The psychiatrists’ reports from the detention centre in
Pisa said you were sane.
POUND
And no one listened to ‘em.
WOMAN
You don’t really want this to go to court, do you?
POUND
The question is: am I right?
WOMAN
The question is: are you sane? Maybe you’re not as
crazy as everyone thinks.
POUND
Oh, they’re going to love hearing that down at the Justice
Department. Locking up a sane man in an asylum for
nearly thirteen years. Yes, that sounds like the American
Way.
WOMAN
You’re very good at confusing the issue, Mr Pound.
POUND
I’m not confused.
WOMAN
I’m beginning to see that.
POUND
Don’t look too closely.
WOMAN
I’m not a fool, Mr Pound.
POUND
Then stop acting like one.
WOMAN
You say you want to go to court, and yet… you have
everything you want right here. Wine, chess, caviar,
tennis, a constant stream of visitors…
POUND
Yes. Everything except freedom.
WOMAN
Doctor Barnes says you’re writing more than ever. It’s
not so very different from being on a literary fellowship,
is it?
POUND
I’ve always said America owed its ten best poets a living,
but this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. You’d like to
see me get the chair, wouldn’t you?
WOMAN
No.
POUND
Think I’ve got it coming, eh?
WOMAN
It’s not up to me.
POUND
(Framing the words)
She always gets her man.
WOMAN
Look, I don’t agree with what you’ve done, and a lot of
what you say I find completely despicable, but I don’t
believe in capital punishment, either. That’s what makes
it so difficult.
POUND
Yes. A bitch of a situation.
WOMAN
We’re talking about your life, Mr Pound.
POUND
We’re talking about the rights of the individual!
WOMAN
The individual doesn’t always come first.
POUND
What’d they have to do to buy you off.
WOMAN
No one’s bought me.
POUND
Then why’re you going against what you believe?
WOMAN
Sometimes the national interest is more important.
POUND
And whose interest is that… specifically?
WOMAN
Anyone who loves his country.
POUND
A human being has a duty to avoid servility, my dear.
WOMAN
People can abuse freedom, Mr Pound.
POUND
Only when they ain’t free.
WOMAN
You threatened the United States.
POUND
Only the cranks who are running it.
(Beat)
What’re you afraid of?
WOMAN
Not you.
POUND
What is it, then? The gentle nudge of oblivion, or
merely politics?
WOMAN
You aren’t a political prisoner, Mr Pound.
POUND
No, I’m here for committing accuracy.
WOMAN
Is that what you call it?
POUND
I thought you had principles.
WOMAN
Like you?
POUND
C’mon, open your eyes. They’ve kept me locked up
here all these years cos they didn’t know what to do
with me. They should’ve hung me in 1946 - it would’ve
been easier. Or maybe they could’ve organized it to
look like suicide.
WOMAN
The Department isn’t out to get you, Mr Pound.
POUND
No. It’s you they’re after! Sending you down here to
this dreary rat-trap, making you listen to a crazy old fool.
A good bureaucrat never makes a decision. Rule number
one, two and three, my dear. Think about it. Say I’m mad,
and they’ll have to leave me here. America’s skeleton in
the closet, the national treasure it deserves. Not such a
good option. But if you say I’m sane, well, they’ll have to
give me the forum of a courtroom. They’ll have to let me
speak. And maybe, even, the firing squad. You wouldn’t
like that now, would you dear? No, we’re both on trial here.
WOMAN
You don’t know what you’re talking about.
POUND
Of course I don’t! I’m paranoid, and depressed, and
untrustworthy. But you’re the sucker who’s making the
recommendations.
(Beat)
You never should’ve got involved in this, you know. You
should’ve stayed right out of it.
WOMAN
I think I’m capable of looking after myself.
POUND
I’ll bet nobody else wanted it.
WOMAN
Nobody else was asked.
POUND
That’s right! Because this situation - this forgotten piece
of the war, this demented old porcupine - is a bitch of an
embarrassment to them. And it has nothing to do with my
mental health. This is about the abuse of language. It’s an
exercise in scape-goating and, I’m afraid, you’re it!
WOMAN
I don’t believe that for a moment.
POUND
And that’s exactly what will allow them to get away
with it.
WOMAN
Get away with what?
POUND
The lies. The treachery. The hypocrisy.
WOMAN
Your mental condition is what the Department is
interested in.
POUND
Like shit it is! This is about justice and injustice. The
right to confide or not to confide. To decide what we
keep and what we give away.
WOMAN
Why’re you telling me this?
POUND
Because I want to know what is mine! How far do you
people go?
WOMAN
I think you like it here. Yes. The noble victim. The
abused visionary. The genius in the madhouse. That
offers you a lot more scope than the role of the elderly,
almost-forgotten poet in exile, doesn’t it?
POUND
It’s heartening to see you’re not letting objectivity
obscure the issues.
WOMAN
You’re the centre of attention. Living proof of the
injustice of the system. You don’t really want to be
released at all, do you? You’ve been using us all along.
POUND
I certainly have not dropped an atom bomb on anyone.
WOMAN
The bomb was used to stop the war.
POUND
The bomb was used so’s they’d have something to
show for the twenty million bucks they spent.
WOMAN
If you hadn’t been a poet - if you’d been factory
worker, or a teacher, or even a doctor - no voice
would’ve been raised in your defense. But if the
court finds you guilty, you’re guilty twice. For treason
as a citizen, and for the poet’s betrayal of everything
that is decent in human civilization.
POUND
Go on, say it. Say it! Old Ez is as nutty as a fruitcake.
That’s what you think.
WOMAN
(Calmly)
No I don’t.
POUND
Yes you do.
WOMAN
Stop acting like a child.
POUND
Maybe we can organize a guillotine instead of a
hanging.
WOMAN
I have a job to do, Mr Pound.
POUND
Oh yes… a real team player.
WOMAN
A loyal citizen.
POUND
Loyal to fragments.
WOMAN
Loyal to my government… to democracy… to the
values that America stands for.
POUND
To have allegiance to what is scattered is usury, my
dear.
(Beat)
By god, how they tempt us! Why, they’re probably not
even paying you what you’re worth.
WOMAN
Money has nothing to do with it.
POUND
Money has everything to do with it!
WOMAN
Not for me.
POUND
No?
WOMAN
Not at all.
POUND
Positive?
WOMAN
Absolutely.
POUND
All right, then, sling us fifty bucks.
(HE smiles)
WOMAN
I’m glad you find me so amusing.
POUND
Bottom of the totem pole, eh?
WOMAN
No.
POUND
New kid on the block.
WOMAN
I’m not a kid.
POUND
Think you can win them over?
WOMAN
It’s not about winning.
POUND
No, it’s about my life!
WOMAN
It’s about finding the truth!
POUND
Long odds, my dear. I’ve seen the form.
WOMAN
So what do you suggest, Mr Pound? What should I do?
Tell them you’re sane and give you a chance to speak,
knowing they won’t listen, knowing they’ll probably execute
you… or lie about your mental condition and leave you
here?
POUND
You wouldn’t lie about something like that.
WOMAN
I have never lied in my life.
POUND
Yes… a Methodist.
(The WOMAN turns away. SHE
stuffs the note pad into her
briefcase, snaps the case shut, and
reaches for her overcoat)
POUND (Continued)
Where are you going?
WOMAN
Home.
POUND
Home! But what about my questions?
WOMAN
What questions are those?
POUND
Well, it’s been a bit one-sided, don’t you think? A
bit of a one-way street.
WOMAN
Maybe next time.
POUND
But there may not be a next time. I may never see
you again. There are things you can tell me.
WOMAN
I doubt it.
(SHE turns to leave)
POUND
You call this justice?
(Beat)
Wait!
(SHE stops)
POUND (Continued)
All right. All right then. I, I know I’ve been a little
difficult, but…
WOMAN
You’ve been abysmal!
(Beat)
You have no idea what it’s like. I don’t have to prove
I can do this job. Not to you, not to anyone.
POUND
You take them too seriously.
WOMAN
And you don’t?
(Pause)
POUND
I am sure we will remember the Fifties with a great
deal more fondness than we felt while living through
them.
WOMAN
They said you’d be difficult. They warned me. But
I came along today with an open mind.
(Beat)
You have every right to despise what you think I
represent, Mr Pound, given the fact you’ve been locked
away here all these years. But that doesn’t give you
the right to insult me. You think you’re the only person
who’s ever been persecuted? Do you really believe that
the poetry legitimizes what you’ve done and said?
(Beat)
I may not be an artist or a poet, like you, but I have
feelings too, and they can be hurt.
POUND
I’ll wager the Department doesn’t know what it’s got,
having you on the payroll.
WOMAN
That’s why I got your case.
POUND
I’m honored.
(The WOMAN stiffens, trying
to control her anger)
WOMAN
You smug, self-congratulating old fascist. You think
you’re so smart, don’t you? Even after twelve years in
this hole, you still think you know more than everyone
else. The poor, misunderstood genius. The helpless victim
who believes he has all the answers if only the world will
listen to him. But a coward’s still a coward no matter
what he hides behind, and poetry won’t change that.
You’re wrong, and you know you’re wrong. Mussolini
was a tyrant. Hitler was a butcher! And there are probably
just as many poor Jews out there who have been done in
by the banks as anyone else. But in your world you only
use the ingredients that suit you. Well, as far as this public
servant is concerned, you can go straight to hell!
(SHE moves to the door)
(POUND sits on the edge of his
bed, drained. The WOMAN stops,
and turns to him)
WOMAN (Continued)
Mr Pound?
(Silence)
Mr Pound?
(Silence)
Mr Pound, this won’t help you, you know. Sooner or later
you’ll have to speak.
(Silence)
Mr Pound?
(SHE crosses to him, and sits
beside him on the bed)
WOMAN (Continued)
Mr Pound!
(Beat)
Mr Pound, where are you?
(Pause)
POUND
Why, in hell, my dear. In hell.
(They regard each other)
WOMAN
I guess there’s nothing more to say.
POUND
Everyone is alone. That is what our culture has
produced - a pain deeper than politics.
WOMAN
What am I supposed to do?
POUND
That’s the wrong question.
WOMAN
What’re we supposed to do?
POUND
Let’s not turn this in to a farce.
WOMAN
I agree.
POUND
We’re not ignorant people. We’re not dumb animals.
WOMAN
You are a very difficult man, Mr Pound.
POUND
Yes, my dear, I know. A real challenge.
(HE moves closer)
So… tell me about Gone With The Wind.
(Stage lights out)
END ACT 1
ACT TWO
SETTING: POUND’S room. Messier than before.
AT RISE: Vivaldi’s music is playing.
Stage lights up.
POUND pulls out an old suitcase and throws it
open on his bed. HE turns, surveying the room. HE
picks up his alarm clock from a bedside chair and
places it in the suitcase.
Music fades.
POUND hums tunelessly to himself as HE sorts through the chaos. HE retrieves what HE wants, guided by some kind of inner logic. Is HE getting
ready for a trial, or preparing himself for the death
house? HE extracts a few articles of clothing from a
dresser drawer: a sweater, shirt and bathrobe. HE
places these haphazardly into the suitcase. Moving
to his desk, HE stares at a sheet of paper in his type-
writer. HE reads it silently, then picks up two books,
weighing them appreciatively before crossing back
to his bed. HE places the books in the suitcase.
What next? HE glances round the room, gathers up
his binoculars, his hairbrush, and then, unable to resist
the temptation, HE hurries back to his desk. HE sits
down, scanning the results of his latest re-write.
POUND
(Reading)
Sic semper tyrannis…
A brackish tribulation.
The knowledge of plants and birds
serves better than a stipend.
A direct feeling…
POUND (Continued)
(Weighing the words)
A direct feeling…
(Becoming aware of a presence in
the room. HE turns to the audience,
squinting, shading his eyes with his
hand)
What?! Oh. You again.
Can’t get enough, eh?
Enjoying the nuthouse, are we?
(Pulls the paper from the
typewriter and wads it up)
Government by the peep-hole, of the peep-hole,
for the peep-hole.
(Tosses the paper over
his shoulder)
“A cage”: the metaphor
too obvious, too alliterative,
didactic, humorless;
tho’ useful on occasion.
Leaden diadem of the banking mentality:
Life in the monkeyhouse.
Not such a good place for poetry, but. . .
“no man has perennial fortune,
slow foot or swift foot, death delays
but for a season.”
(HE follows the flight of a fly
through the air. HE reaches for
a manuscript and holds it at the
ready. The fly lights on his
typewriter. HE observes it for
a moment before slamming the
manuscript down. HE examines
the flattened insect, then flicks
it with his finger)
Better to say: Montana is in the air.
Big sky ceiling.
A walk through deserted streets
of one’s childhood home.
The joke is on me.
(HE stands and moves slowly
downstage. His manner is
conversational at first, as if
addressing someone in the
audience, but becomes more
dramatic as he warms up)
POUND (Continued)
How long have you been in?
(Beat)
I see. You’re not in.
That’s what they all say.
You’re not going anywhere though, are you?
(Beat)
I didn’t think so.
Yes, I understand. Capisce!
Never the proposals that get in the way,
only the stupid questions
and inattention to answers;
the blind assent to speed:
the headlong rush into untried truth
because he said this
and she said that,
so long as everything is quick,
so long as everything is sweet.
As if life could be conceived and born
in a night’s sleep;
toddling by breakfast;
high school on the way to work;
college and a perfect marriage by noon;
old age for lunch; and a palsied decline
in time for tea.
Setting for an early hour
the alarm clock by Death;
and Heaven: another sleep.
So how is it that Men and Women
make it through another day
with such velocity,
with so little deliberation?
(Beat)
Freedom is a wishbone
caught up in the hand of a child who
believes in magic and cannot speak,
for speaking does not make wishes happen.
What is closest to us must always remain a secret,
and there is tragedy in this.
Syntax cannot change this room.
Something more is required. . .
or something less.
Courage: the rudimentary ingredient.
Better to reflect the world without a word
POUND (Continued)
than talk ourselves to death.
But make no mistake -
this is no theatre of ideas,
only lucid dream.
In here, the passing show
lacks the usual requisite action,
but should do in any case.
The anticipation of a long journey
is still possible,
even when there is no horizon.
(Vivaldi’s music fades up as the
stage lights fade down, giving the
impression that the play is over.
POUND glances round)
POUND (Continued)
Wait!
(The music stops, stage lights
fade up)
POUND (Continued)
But how?
How did I begin
to leave this place where the dead walk
and the living are made of cardboard?
(Beat)
Bring it back!
(Beat)
A second time?
(The voice of a tormented, human
soul can be heard howling in another
ward. It is joined by other voices.
POUND takes everything out of his
suitcase, putting back each item
exactly where HE found it. The last
item - the alarm clock - stops him.
HE pauses over it, his finger drawing
a slow, deliberate circle over its face,
as if turning back its hands. The
howling subsides)
POUND (Continued)
The other day, two women came to visit. Yes, two.
One, who did most of the talking; and one who was
so quiet it was like she wasn’t here at all. They looked
like perfect candidates for the Ez-uversity…
(BETSY, a university student in
her early 20s, enters with a load of
books and papers, and a portable
tape recorder. SHE deposits these
on POUND’S desk)
BETSY
Mr Pound?
POUND
(Looking up)
Hullo!
BETSY
I brought the research.
POUND
Research?
BETSY
From the library… at Columbia.
POUND
How did you get in?
BETSY
The, uh, orderly. He… he said it would be okay.
POUND
He did?
BETSY
I hope we haven’t come at a bad time.
POUND
We?
(Beat)
Who are you?
BETSY
Betsy.
POUND
Betsy?
BETSY
Don’t you remember?
POUND
What?
BETSY
Me. Being here.
POUND
When?
BETSY
Mr Pound!
POUND
What did we talk about?
BETSY
All sorts of things.
POUND
That narrows it down.
BETSY
You were trying to tell me about the Australian
Aborigines. You were complaining that the library
here at the hospital was no good.
POUND
And the orderly let you in.
BETSY
(Nodding)
Mr Brierson.
POUND
And he didn’t warn you about me?
BETSY
No.
(Pause)
POUND
C’mere.
(BETSY hesitates)
POUND (Continued)
C’mon, c’mon!
(SHE moves closer. POUND gives
her the once-over)
POUND (Continued)
What did Brierson say?
BETSY
He said you were feeling depressed. He thought you
might not speak to us.
POUND
Yup, that’s Brierson. Always splendidly candid about
my condition.
BETSY
He wasn’t mean about it or anything.
POUND
No, no, of course not. The man’s a saint.
BETSY
He said he didn’t think you should be here, that
you were only confused.
POUND
The guy has no concept of anything at all.
BETSY
He was critical of the Justice Department. He… he
said the State was barbaric.
POUND
Barbaric, eh? Quite a likeable chap, really.
BETSY
He said that if you’d just kept quiet you probably
wouldn’t…
POUND
Kept quiet! Nonsense! “The man of understanding
can no more sit quiet while his country lets its literature
decay than a good doctor could sit quietly watching some
ignorant child infect itself with tuberculosis under the
impression it was merely eating jam tarts.”
BETSY
It doesn’t make any sense, does it?
POUND
What?
BETSY
Calling ourselves modern, and then locking our poets
away in insane asylums.
POUND
“Modern” ended with Hiroshima.
BETSY
But you’re a great poet, Mr Pound.
POUND
I’m also a helluva tennis player. So what!
BETSY
It’s wrong. What they’re doing to you.
POUND
You’re not from the Department, are you?
BETSY
No. Margaret and I are from New York. From Columbia
University.
POUND
Margaret?
BETSY
(Gesturing)
My friend.
(POUND looks but sees nothing)
BETSY (Continued)
We caught the Greyhound from New York last night.
POUND
And people wonder why I’m paranoid.
BETSY
Are you sure you don’t remember me, Mr Pound?
POUND
Maybe it’ll come to me. You’re… you’re a teacher, right?
BETSY
Students. English majors.
POUND
Ah!
(Beat)
Well… uh… make yourself comfortable.
(BETSY sits on the edge of the
desk, letting her feet swing free)
POUND
From, uh, New York?
BETSY
Both of us.
POUND
(Confidentially)
Let’s leave her out of it, shall we?
BETSY
We can’t do that, Mr Pound.
POUND
Why not?
BETSY
It wouldn’t be right.
POUND
Oh. Yes, of course.
(Beat)
And the orderly let you in.
BETSY
I think he felt sorry for us. We’d come such a long
way.
POUND
And you didn’t have to bribe him?
BETSY
We didn’t have anything to bribe him with.
POUND
Uh-huh.
(Beat)
I doubt that.
(BETSY glances down at the desk.
SHE reaches for the typewriter)
POUND (Continued)
Don’t fiddle!
(SHE withdraws her hand)
POUND (Continued)
Quick reactions… I like that.
BETSY
I’m sorry.
POUND
So you should be.
(HE moves to his desk, covering
the typewriter with a towel)
BETSY
Were you working on something?
POUND
Between distractions.
BETSY
If you’d like us to leave…
POUND
No! No, it’ll keep. One of the virtues of poetry. . . unlike
pate.
(HE picks up a few stray
sheets paper and pegs them
to his clothesline)
BETSY
I brought a tape recorder.
POUND
A what?
BETSY
A tape recorder. The last time I was here you said it
would be okay if I made some recordings.
POUND
What sort of recordings?
BETSY
Of you.
POUND
I don’t remember that. In fact, come to think of it, I
don’t remember you at all.
BETSY
You said if I brought you the information you wanted
you’d let me record you reading some of your poems.
POUND
Was I awake?
BETSY
Mr Pound!
POUND
Sometimes I nod off in the middle of conversations,
and people think it means I’m agreeing with them.
BETSY
We had a long conversation about it.
POUND
We did?
BETSY
I’m not making it up.
(POUND is distracted by a
sheet of paper on the floor.
HE picks it up and examines
it)
BETSY (Continued)
You said you thought it was a good idea.
(POUND pegs the sheet of
paper to his clothesline)
BETSY (Continued)
Mr Pound?
(POUND continues looking
at the paper HE has pegged
to the line)
BETSY (Continued)
Mr Pound!
POUND
Call me “Grampaw”.
BETSY
Grampaw?
POUND
All my young visitors call me Grampaw.
(BETSY smiles)
POUND (Continued)
And try being a little less pushy, will you?
(Aside)
I have to direct the thing as well.
(POUND and BETSY look into
each other’s eyes)
POUND (Continued)
Enchanting.
BETSY
What?
POUND
Your eyes.
BETSY
Thank you.
(POUND lingers for a moment, then
turns away)
POUND
So, you’ve been travelling all night, huh?
BETSY
Yes. Margaret and I.
POUND
Margaret?
(HE looks)
Ah, yes.
BETSY
She’s very shy. Sometimes I even forget she’s
there, myself. Very self-contained, though.
POUND
Yes. Tremendous self-discipline.
BETSY
She’s a very good listener, too.
POUND
I’ve heard of bit parts, but this is ridiculous.
BETSY
Excuse me?
POUND
Just talking to myself. One of the fringe benefits of
being here. Ought to be more careful, eh? They might
think I’m mad.
BETSY
I don’t think you’re mad at all. You just see things a
little differently from most people.
POUND
Is that it?
BETSY
I’m sure you’re just as sane as I am.
POUND
Well, that’s a relief.
(Beat)
How do you feel?
BETSY
A little tired, I guess, but. . .
POUND
No, no, no. I mean, how do you feel? Are you sure
you’re not from just down the hall?
BETSY
No. From New York.
POUND
Oh. . . good.
(BETSY gazes round the room)
BETSY
Gee, there’s not much light is there?
POUND
No. They’re very particular about the light. They
don’t want the little there is escaping out the windows,
so they keep them closed. Think about it. Bureaucracies
understand these things. Would you care for a glass of
wine?
BETSY
They allow you wine?
POUND
Almost everything! Free country, you know.
BETSY
Gee. I never knew about the wine.
POUND
What about a sandwich? You look like you could
use a sandwich.
(HE bolts to the fridge)
Lemme see… lemme see… what’ve we got here?
Bacon… marmalade… ketchup. Ah! What about
some mayonnaise?
(HE turns, holding up a jar of
mayonnaise)
From Havana!
BETSY
Cuban mayonnaise?
POUND
Hemingway.
(HE takes the lid off and sniffs)
Totally eclipsed by his prose, I’m afraid, but then
it’s not easy being a Renaissance man these days.
(HE samples some with his finger)
BETSY
A glass of wine would be nice, thank you.
POUND
Wine. Right!
(HE replaces the lid and
returns the jar to the fridge.
HE crosses to the desk,
opens a drawer and
rummages through the
litter)
There’s a very passable drop of red here somewhere.
(HE pulls out several bits
of paper, a 45 rpm record,
a few playing cards, a
crumpled magazine, a couple
of empty jars, and a tennis
ball. The ball bounces away.
Finally, HE extracts an
already-open bottle of red
wine. KE holds it up)
Chateauneuf du Pape, 1953. cummings left it when
he was here last week. He knows I loathe red.
BETSY
e.e. cummings?
POUND
You know cummings, do you?
(Uncorks the bottle)
BETSY
He’s one of Margaret’s favorite poets! He was at
Columbia last year reading his poetry, wasn’t he
Margaret?
(POUND glances in the
direction of the unseen
Margaret)
POUND
A devotee, huh?
BETSY
She identifies with him.
POUND
Uh-huh.
BETSY
She’s read everything he’s ever published.
POUND
Extraordinary. One is never very sure where the
lovers of verse are these days, and then when you
meet one… well…
(Beat)
Is Margaret drinking?
(BETSY shakes her head)
POUND (Continued)
Bad liver?
BETSY
Eczema. She breaks out all over.
POUND
How irritating!
BETSY
Milk has the same effect on her.
(POUND glances in Margaret’s
direction)
POUND
Poor thing. You just can’t win, can you?
(Beat)
Looks like she’s been a mite heavy-handed with the
vanishing creme.
BETSY
Most people just ignore her.
POUND
No wonder.
BETSY
My mother doesn’t see her at all.
POUND
Really!
(HE pours the wine into the two,
empty jars)
BETSY
You and Mr cummings are good friends, aren’t you?
POUND
We’ve had our spats. Last time he came here it ended
in an argument over some confounded notion of his
that he knew the language of blue-jays. . . and that man
is out on the street, mind you!
BETSY
Did he mean it?
POUND
Course he meant it! Good poets always mean it.
Cantankerous old bastard.
(Beat)
Here.
(HE hands the jar of wine to
BETSY)
BETSY
Thank you.
POUND
Don’t mention it.
(Lifting his glass)
To your health.
BETSY
And long life.
POUND
Why not!
(They drink. POUND doesn’t
like the taste)
BETSY
It’s good.
POUND
Hmmm.
(BETSY has another sip.
They sit in silence for a
moment)
POUND
(In unison)
So what possessed you to…?
BETSY
(In unison)
If someone had told me….
(Pause)
POUND
(In unison)
Is this the first time…
BETSY
(In unison)
Margaret and I were…
(Another pause)
POUND
Go ahead.
BETSY
No, you.
POUND
No, I insist.
BETSY
After you.
POUND
What did you say your name was?
BETSY
Betsy.
POUND
Betsy.
BETSY
Short for Elizabeth… like the hospital. It was my
grandmother’s name. She was from Boston.
POUND
Boston!
BETSY
She worked on the Sacco and Vanzetti Defense
Committee.
POUND
(Ironically)
Terrific.
BETSY
She was so upset when they were executed… she stayed
in England for ten years. My aunt says I’m just like her,
only she never had an interest in poetry… my grandmother,
I mean. She was more of a political animal, I guess. You
know, a dreamer. Everyone thought she was terribly eccentric.
POUND
Sounds like my father.
BETSY
Was he in politics?
POUND
Politics? No. No, as a matter of fact, he was an assayer at
the Mint, in Philadelphia. Homer. When I was eight he took
me down to watch them counting the money. All the silver
money in America was counted that year. They didn’t miss
a nickel. Men stripped to the waist, sweating under the gas
flares, shoveling coins into the counting machines. Money
was real in those days, y’know. It meant something.
BETSY
Yeah. I had to borrow fifteen dollars for the bus tickets.
POUND
That’s how it starts.
(BETSY places her jar on the desk
and picks up her handbag)
BETSY
Would you mind if I smoked?
POUND
Are you getting hot?
(BETSY looks puzzled)
POUND (Continued)
Please…. go ahead. I won’t tell.
(BETSY extracts a packet of
cigarettes from her bag)
BETSY
Would you like one?
POUND
Maybe later.
(BETSY shakes a cigarette from
the packet)
BETSY
Margaret thinks I smoke too much. She keeps
telling me it’ll stunt my growth.
POUND
Yes, well, uh…. Margaret looks like she’d know
about that sort of thing.
(POUND picks up a box
of matches, lights the cigarette.
Pushing aside a heap of
manuscripts, HE uncovers an
ashtray, places it on the edge
of the desk)
(BETSY exhales slowly…
sighs)
BETSY
That’s better.
(An appreciation of silence)
BETSY
So…
(Taking another puff)
Can we start the recordings?
POUND
Huh?
BETSY
You know… something from The Cantos maybe, or…
well, anything you like, really.
(POUND stares at her in mild
disbelief as she moves to set up
the tape recorder)
BETSY
Maybe you could just talk for a while.
POUND
I thought we’d settled that.
BETSY
But you promised.
POUND
I have no memory of promising any such thing.
(Beat)
Why’s it so important, anyway?
BETSY
Because what you have to say is worth listening to.
POUND
Nonsense.
BETSY
Because it’s a way of making people understand.
POUND
Good Gawd.
BETSY
People will listen.
POUND
Like they did to the radio broadcasts.
BETSY
I’m talking about poetry, Grampaw.
POUND
Part of some English assignment, is it?
BETSY
No.
POUND
Come on!
BETSY
It’s not!
POUND
You don’t have to lie to me.
BETSY
I’m not lying.
POUND
Trying to make a name for yourself, are you?
BETSY
No!
POUND
Well what is it, then?
BETSY
You said a poet should sing what he cares about.
POUND
Not when it means diverting attention. They might end
up thinking I like it here.
BETSY
But it’s important.
POUND
Bird in cage does not sing.
BETSY
If we could just record a few. . .
POUND
Bird in cage does not sing! One finishes
saying “cage” between clenched teeth. You notice?
The physicality of the word - the way the body imitates
the meaning: Bird in cage does not sing.
BETSY
I wouldn’t even mind getting that.
POUND
Ah, my dear girl, can’t you see? The main spring’s
busted, and nothing can put it right, not until the record’s
been set straight. I have wasted too much time with
poetry in here.
BETSY
You’ve been here so long… it would affect anybody.
POUND
But I ain’t crazy!
BETSY
I know.
POUND
You do?
BETSY
I never thought you were crazy to begin with.
POUND
If only I’d studied Confucius earlier I never would’ve
gotten into this mess.
(Beat)
Maybe I should’ve stopped the broadcasts after Pearl
Harbor.
BETSY
What you said on the radio didn’t cause the deaths
of any Americans.
POUND
They still said I was a traitor.
BETSY
You tried to stop the war.
POUND
No. I said too much… always too much where it didn’t
count. They’ll never let me forget it, either.
BETSY
People make mistakes, Grampaw.
POUND
This was never part of the deal, y’know. I was double-
crossed. They were supposed to release me after the insanity
hearing. Thirteen years in the bughouse was never part of
the agenda.
BETSY
Is that what they said?
POUND
They didn’t say a damn thing. It was all nudges and
winks. The doctors have been lying for years, telling ‘em
I’m incompetent. Ask Overholser. He knows damn well
I have my wits about me. Not that he’d ever admit it.
BETSY
They won’t be able to keep you here forever. They’ll
have to release you some time.
POUND
Not until they’ve tried me, and they can’t try me unless
I can prove to ‘em I’m sane.
BETSY
But you’re safe here.
POUND
Safe!
(Beat)
Oh yes. I’ve been talking myself to sleep for years,
deluding myself into believing that the safety of this
hell-hole was preferable to taking the bastards on.
Well, if I’d been as crazy as they said I was, I’d be
seein’ things by now. What was I afraid of? Death?
The fear of death is Death.
BETSY
You mustn’t let them put you on trial, Grampaw.
POUND
Why not? Why shouldn’t I stand up and tell ‘em what
I think? You said so yourself - I’m just as sane as you
are… you and Margaret.
BETSY
They won’t let you win. They’ll just say you’re guilty
and execute you. That’s how they work. You’re not like
other people The fact that you’re a poet means nothing
to them. They don’t care about poetry.
POUND
Survival at any cost, eh?
BETSY
I don’t want you to die, Grampaw. Not by their hands.
It’s not time. You have more to write, more to say. You
can’t do anything if you’re dead.
POUND
“If a man ain’t prepared to take some risks for what he
believes in, either his beliefs are no good, or he’s no
good.” So which is it?
BETSY
They’ll destroy you.
POUND
No one can hide the truth forever.
(HE turns away. HE notices the
books and notes BETSY has
deposited on his desk)
POUND (Continued)
What’s all this?
BETSY
You said you wanted some information about the
Australian Aborigines. It was part of our agreement.
POUND
Wait a minute. I know you. You’re s’posed to be a
Wednesday.
BETSY
What?
POUND
What day is today?
BETSY
Saturday.
POUND
That’s right. That explains it. We were talking about the
Aborigines.
BETSY
That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.
POUND
And you were supposed to come back on a Wednesday. It
was you, wasn’t it?
BETSY
I couldn’t get away. I had exams.
POUND
Or were you a Tuesday?
BETSY
You were asking about the Wandjina. I… I brought
everything I could find.
POUND
The who?
BETSY
The Wandjina.
POUND
Wandjina?
BETSY
You said it might be a key.
POUND
A key? What sort of key?
BETSY
You said you thought it might have something to do
with you being here.
POUND
Wandjina.
BETSY
That’s what you said.
(Beat)
Maybe if you read through the notes…
POUND
“And Tom wore a tin disc, a circular can-lid with his
name on it, solely: for Wandjina has lost his mouth… a
man on whom the sun has gone down.”
(Pause)
Wandjina. Yes. Of course.
BETSY
Grampaw?
POUND
I remember one summer walking along an old road
and discovering a dead deer. You could feel its presence
there, weeks, even months, later. I’m sure if I was there
now I would still feel it. Then there was that fishing hole
full of edible red-fin… and that special, shady tree near
Sant’ Ambrogio - a eucalypt, down the hill from the villa…
(HE extracts something from his
pocket)
Here.
(HE shows BETSY the object in
the palm of his hand)
BETSY
What is it?
POUND
A nut. From the tree.
BETSY
Oh.
(SHE reaches out to touch it, but
POUND withdraws it into himself.
HE puts it back in his pocket)
POUND
Places full of power. Sacred places. Places where
one feels a contentment, a belonging; where one
feels whole.
BETSY
I’ve always loved the subway. The smell of cigar
smoke… woolen coats in winter… the newsprint.
It makes me think of when I was a girl.
POUND
You grew up in the city?
BETSY
New Rochelle.
POUND
Ah!
BETSY
I still love it.
POUND
That’s what I’m talking about! Those special, personal
places; not special by chance, but because we find parts
of ourselves in ‘em, and leave parts of ourselves behind.
The parts of the world we create. Like the Wandjina.
(HE moves to his clothesline
filing system)
A long time ago, some young people - students of Frobenius –
came to my house in Rapallo. They had sketches they’d
made on one of their expeditions…
(HE grabs hold of a large piece of
paper, turns it round to reveal a full-
length drawing of a Wandjina figure)
Drawings like this one. There are several hundred of them
on the walls of caves in the hinterland of Auss’ralia.
Look at the expression! It’s as if he was sitting squarely
on top of his own anxiety.
(HE hangs it prominently on the
wall over the bed)
BETSY
They look sort of like spacemen, don’t they?
POUND
Don’t be daft! They’ve got nothing to do with spacemen.
(Beat)
If intuition has a face, there it is! And someone has
actually drawn it!
BETSY
Without mouths.
POUND
Yes.
(Beat)
So, what happened to the mouths?
BETSY
They weren’t needed any more.
POUND
Weren’t needed?
BETSY
The Aborigines believe the Wandjina created the
world, the entire world, with words, with names. All
they had to do was name something and it would exist.
Trees, mountains, animals. Everything. They say if the
Wandjina hadn’t been stopped they would’ve made too
many things. So the mouths were taken away.
POUND
Taken away?
BETSY
Removed. To stop the names.
POUND
To stop them speaking.
BETSY
If they’d kept going, they would’ve destroyed the
world. There would’ve been too many things.
POUND
(A revelation)
So it was a punishment!
(Beat)
I knew it. If only I hadn’t been so dumb.
BETSY
I think you better read the notes.
POUND
(Pointing to drawing)
The tribe that made these had sixteen words for water.
Nomad, the antithesis of noman,
knows the sacred places;
is fluid and capable of exactitude,
without writing,
without books or libraries, precisely
because he is in his place.
The Land is alive
It has everything to do with his life!
Sixteen words for water!
(Beat)
How many do you have?
BETSY
(Shrugs)
Water.
POUND
Exactly. A vain abstraction aided by adjectives.
BETSY
Why does it matter?
POUND
Because rain water is different from surface water,
and salt water is not the same as fresh.
It has to do with immediacy -
a knowledge of the world at first-hand.
“Periplum, not as land looks on a map
but as sea bord seen by men sailing.”
Otherwise we look at life
as through a two-way mirror.
BETSY
Sixteen words for water.
POUND
So how is it that the Aborigines had such ideas
about the world, and never wrote a book, or built a
chapel, or composed a fugue, or invented an atom
bomb?
BETSY
Maybe they had no need for them.
POUND
Because they know who they are! “Our humanity is
counterfeit; our liberty, cankered with simulation.” Wrong
from the start.
BETSY
You can say too much sometimes, Grampaw. Sometimes
you have to stop talking so that people can hear what
you’ve said.
POUND
The difference between the Wandjina and me is that it was
the gods who took their mouths away… mine was removed
by the State.
BETSY
Sometimes silence can be more powerful than words.
POUND
Only when one is finished with creation.
(Pause)
Those without confidence in banksia
and spinifex for lack of education
must have thought Terra Australis a lost land -
an aberrant continent -
where everything is back to front.
Even now, the white men wander
uncertain, uncomfortable;
and not for want of plumbing or electricity,
but because they do not understand where they are.
I am talking about the power of the Land.
“No one prospers unless everyone prospers”
was the bushman’s law;
vis a vis: the white man’s grace sez:
“if I can’t have it, you won’t either”.
The stance of men who are threatened,
unable to embrace the land, in the European
produced self-deprecation; produces war
whose language is barricade,
wishing fauns cavorted on sand dunes,
dreaming of genii riding kangaroo.
We speak with a thousand borrowed voices,
POUND (Continued)
calling them our own, and wonder why
we cannot trust ourselves.
We define ourselves by what we are not.
BETSY
You are not an Aborigine, Grampaw. You are a poet…
and a very great poet.
POUND
Yes. Ouan Jin! The man of letters. The man with an
education. A man on whom the sun has gone down.
(Beat)
But I am also related to them!
(pointing)
To the Wandjina! And so are you.
BETSY
We are no longer tribal people.
POUND
We are all tribal people under the skin.
And we deny this at the expense
of tearing ourselves in half…
POUND (Continued)
which we do everyday, very well -
the tearing, I mean. We have made it in to an art.
Some in the name of competitiveness,
some from a fear of scarcity,
some believing Nature is the enemy.
But the Dreaming lives in each of us -
the tides of kinship and a susceptibility
for seeing ourselves in the Land
when we stop and look.
“The gods never left us.”
BETSY
There are lots of different kinds of worlds. You can’t
live in all of them.
POUND
The trick is to live even in one!
BETSY
The trick is to stay alive.
POUND
At what cost?
(HE sits)
BETSY
You scare me, Grampaw.
POUND
That’s because you see me as a metaphor. But there
is wisdom in recognizing that a desk is a desk, and a
chair, a chair. We are not so terribly different from
the Aborigines, you know… except our language does
not make us custodians of the Earth, but Earth’s
adversaries. A man cannot live in fragments. He must
know the place he started from, and then let others know.
BETSY
They’ll call it treason.
POUND
They can call it whatever they like. But the worst
treason is the one we commit against ourselves - speaking
when we should be silent; or worse, being silent when
we should speak.
BETSY
And if they kill you?
POUND
So long as the money-lenders sleep peacefully in their
beds there will be no end to war. Two world wars in one
century, and more to come, arranged by men with blank
eyes, setting corpses to banquet at the behest of usury.
And who pays for their greed? Us! Always. With our
lives. And still we go on voting the asses in who pass
the laws and make the deals so the bankers won’t go
begging. “Love of money beyond all other love, gain
at the expense of everything that is admirable.” Those
who can still see and speak must make themselves heard.
BETSY
That sounds like Communism.
POUND
Communism!
BETSY
If they hear you talk like that…
POUND
Communism hain’t even practiced by the higher
mammals! Wake up, girl! Wild dogs collaborate! I
wouldn’t be caught dead with Communism.
Compared to me, Eisenhower’s practically a fellow
traveler.
(Thinking better of his
outburst)
Sorry.
BETSY
You’re going to let them try you.
POUND
I’m going to say what I have to say.
BETSY
It won’t help. It won’t bring you any peace.
POUND
Peace comes from good manners, and manners are
from the earth and water and the knowledge that comes
of being where one belongs. I have lost contact with
the Earth.
BETSY
I shouldn’t have come.
(POUND draws closer)
POUND
You came here to save me, didn’t you?
BETSY
I tried.
POUND
You made at me?
BETSY
I love you.
(A SIGNIFICANT PAUSE)
(Before POUND has a chance to
speak, the door to POUND’s room
opens, and the WOMAN from the
Justice Department enters)
WOMAN
Oh, I’m sorry. They didn’t tell me you had a visitor.
POUND
Well, well, well… the Department of Justice.
(His arm raised in greeting, stopping
short of the fascist salute)
How are you, my dear?
(They shake)
WOMAN
Mr Pound.
POUND
The pleasure is all mine. And let me introduce you to. . .
WOMAN
Hello Betsy.
BETSY
Hello.
WOMAN
Margaret.
(POUND blinks in surprise, his
glance moving between the WOMAN
and the unseen Margaret)
POUND
You know each other?
WOMAN
Only professionally.
(POUND turns to BETSY)
BETSY
` It’s not like you think, Grampaw.
POUND
What do I think?
BETSY
I had to see you.
WOMAN
(To BETSY)
So how did it go?
BETSY
I don’t want to talk about it.
POUND
Talk about what?
WOMAN
Did he tell you about Australia?
BETSY
Not now, please.
POUND
What is this?
BETSY
I can explain everything.
POUND
Did she send you?
BETSY
No. It’s not like that at all. She told me to stay away.
POUND
Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?
WOMAN
Betsy’s been sending us petitions for the past twelve
months, trying to have you pardoned.
BETSY
You have no right to imprison him like this.
WOMAN
She thinks we want to kill you.
BETSY
You’ve done a pretty good job of it.
WOMAN
She seems to think that if I tell them you’re sane,
the government will execute you.
BETSY
Don’t trust her, Grampaw.
WOMAN
She thinks you’ve been victimized.
BETSY
It’s true!
WOMAN
She identifies with you.
POUND
How do you two know each other?
BETSY
(To WOMAN)
Don’t!
WOMAN
Betsy used to be one of my patients.
BETSY
You’re the one who needs a shrink.
WOMAN
Her mother and I are old friends.
BETSY
Leave her out of it!
WOMAN
I’m sorry if she’s disturbed you, Mr Pound.
POUND
Not at all.
WOMAN
I’ll speak to Mr Brierson. There’s obviously been a
breach in security.
BETSY
I can explain everything, Grampaw.
POUND
You don’t have to.
BETSY
But I want you to know how I feel.
POUND
It’s okay.
(Affectionately)
You’ve already told me.
(To WOMAN)
She came all the way from New York.
WOMAN
Really!
POUND
She brought me the information I was looking for.
(HE takes BETSY’S hand)
Not that it was information, exactly.
WOMAN
What’s going on?
POUND
Oh, you would’ve had to have been here, my dear.
Betsy and I… and, uh… Margaret… we’ve been having
a very interesting talk, haven’t we?
WOMAN
I see.
POUND
You do?
WOMAN
(To BETSY)
I hope you got what you wanted.
BETSY
I’m not talking to you.
WOMAN
Your mother won’t be pleased to hear about this Betsy.
BETSY
Then don’t tell her.
POUND
I don’t think there’s much of a chance of that.
WOMAN
Well maybe you ought to run along, then.
BETSY
Grampaw!
POUND
She’s my guest.
(Pause)
WOMAN
Very well then. She’ll find out anyway. I’m afraid I
have some bad news for you, Mr Pound. I thought I’d
better come myself.
POUND
(To BETSY)
Notice how she prolongs the suspense for dramatic effect.
WOMAN
It’s not what you think.
POUND
You told them I was sane, didn’t you?
WOMAN
Yes, I did.
POUND
Good!
WOMAN
I also told them I believed you’d been using insanity as a
way of escaping the charges.
POUND
Excellent tactic!
WOMAN
Technically… clinically, there’s no reason why you
shouldn’t be put on trial.
POUND
Now you’re talking!
BETSY
Why can you just leave him alone?
WOMAN
I’m sorry, Mr Pound.
POUND
Oh, don’t be sorry, my dear. I’m looking forward to it.
BETSY
Haven’t you hurt him enough?
WOMAN
You can put your tape recorder away, Betsy. You’ve won.
POUND
What?
WOMAN
She believed it was a way of protecting.
POUND
Protecting me?
BETSY
Don’t tell him! You have no right!
WOMAN
She’s been threatening to do it for weeks.
BETSY
Don’t listen to her, Grampaw.
WOMAN
She thought if she could get you on tape. . .
BETSY
You promised!
WOMAN
… she’d have the evidence to prove you were insane.
BETSY
No! Please.
WOMAN
But he’s not crazy, Betsy!
(POUND turns to BETSY)
BETSY
I didn’t want them to hurt you, Grampaw. I… I…
POUND
It’s all right. I know. I know.
(To WOMAN)
What do you mean, she’s won?
WOMAN
They already had their minds made up. You were right.
They didn’t listen to me. My report was only a formality.
It would seem that what I think and say no longer counts.
In the opinion of Doctor Overholser, you’re still suffering
from some kind of psychotic disorder. I’m afraid the
panel’s decided to accept his recommendation. They’ve
believe you’re unfit to enter a plea.
POUND
Unfit!
WOMAN
Incapable.
POUND
On what grounds?
WOMAN
Mentally competency. Lack of.
BETSY
You mean they’re not going to try him?
POUND
She means they’re a pack of cowards.
WOMAN
I did what I could, Mr Pound.
BETSY
He never should’ve been arrested in the first place.
WOMAN
Stay out of it, Betsy.
POUND
Good strategy, my dear, keeping Pound away from
the forum of a courtroom.
BETSY
(To POUND)
They can’t touch you!
WOMAN
It’s finished.
POUND
Like hell it is.
BETSY
Don’t argue with her.
POUND
They don’t know what they’re talking about.
BETSY
Leave it, Grampaw.
POUND
They haven’t proven a damn thing!
WOMAN
They don’t have to.
(Pause)
POUND
Oh yes! Yes, they do. One day they will have to
account for me. History will have to account for me.
They can’t keep me locked up here forever.
WOMAN
They’re not intending to.
POUND
So what’re they gonna do now? Hang me without a trial?
WOMAN
Believe me, Mr Pound, if it had been up to me I
would’ve much rather seen you answer the charges,
with or without the death penalty. At least it would’ve
been settled.
POUND
What’re you driving at?
WOMAN
They’re going to release you.
POUND
(In union with BETSY)
Release me!
BETSY
(In unison with POUND)
What!
WOMAN
You’ve been judged incurably insane. They’ve decided
you’ll never be fit enough to stand trial. You’re to be
placed in the care of your wife. It’s over, Mr Pound.
BETSY
That means… he’s free.
(POUND stares at the WOMAN,
then turns to BETSY)
POUND
(Profoundly)
Noooo!
(POUND moves away)
BETSY
But they’re going to let him go. He’s safe now.
WOMAN
Yes. Safe.
(SHE moves closer to POUND)
I wanted you to know… I’m leaving the Department.
(Beat)
I had to go against what I believed in to tell the truth
about you. I don’t think I would’ve been able to have
lived with myself if I hadn’t.
(Beat)
Sometimes, the only thing you can do is walk away.
(Beat)
I’m sorry.
(Pause… then turning to
BETSY)
Can I give you a lift?
BETSY
No.
WOMAN
Don’t worry, Betsy. I won’t tell your mother.
BETSY
I’ll make my own way.
WOMAN
Suit yourself. I’ll see you on Tuesday.
(Beat)
Good-bye, Mr Pound.
(HE doesn’t acknowledge her.
SHE turns and exits)
POUND
All my enemies have turned to dust.
BETSY
What does it mean, Grampaw?
POUND
It means nothing… nothing will be rectified.
(Stage lights dim. Spotlight up on
POUND. The silence is broken by
a distant, mad howling from one of
the wards. POUND cocks his head,
listening)
POUND (Continued)
You see! Drammer is reduced to this.
The man gave everything he had.
An unconfident country will take it all,
give nothing in return…
then you awake, wordless,
with the moon in a window.
One belongs to the world… or to nothing.
(Stage lights slowly fade up.
POUND turns and moves to
his desk. BETSY waits, holding
a microphone)
BETSY
Thank you for doing this for us.
POUND
It may be the last thing I do. Silence is beginning to
look more and more appealing. I suppose one can be
captured by it.
(BETSY adjusts the volume
on the tape recorder. SHE
holds the microphone a few
inches from POUND’S mouth.
SHE nods)
POUND (Continued)
Sic semper tyrannis,
a brackish tribulation.
Great skill precedes creation.
The knowledge of plants and birds
serves better than a stipend;
A direct feeling.
“Manners are from the earth and from water;
they arise out of hills and streams.”
(Stage lights begin to
fade as a small spotlight
illuminates POUND’S
face)
The Land, an extension of the body.
There are still those who walk the Earth
and know this, who are attuned to
the distribution of the spirits of children.
And those who come from other places,
for whom custom is only business,
have no ears for the stories the Earth can tell -
and no knowledge…
(Stage lights out.
Spotlight on face)
More isolated than I, in my hell-hole,
dreaming of the Wandjina.
(Spotlight out -
BLACKOUT)
END ACT 2
SIXTEEN WORDS FOR WATER was first performed by the Sydney Theatre
Company at The Wharf Theatre, Sydney, Australia, on 13 August, 1991, with
the following cast:
EZRA POUND………………………..Simon Chilvers
WOMAN………………………………Rosemary Harris
BETSY…………………………………Miranda Otto
Director: Rhys McConnochie
Designer: Ken Wilby
Dramaturg: Paul Thompson
This play is dedicated to
Edwin R. Field
Teacher & friend
SYNOPSIS
(Sixteen Words For Water)
Indicted for making anti-American broadcasts over Italian radio during the Second World War, the American poet, Ezra Pound, deemed unfit to plead to a charge of treason, was committed to a mental institution in Washington D.C. , where he has spent the last thirteen years of his life. Now he is faced with the ultimate choice: the continued safety of the asylum or a courtroom and the possibility of the death sentence. Sixteen Words For Water offers a witty and dramatic examination of the paradox and apparent contradiction of a man torn between the wealth of his imagination and the poverty of his politics.
Sixteen Words For Water
Production & publication history
1990 - Two-week workshop and rehearsed reading as one of the featured plays at the
National Playwright’s Conference, Canberra, A.C.T.
(The response of the audience at the conference was overwhelming, so much so that several major theatre companies rang me within the week following the conference asking if they might produce the play.)
1991- Five-week, world premiere season at the Wharf Theatre, Sydney Theatre Company. (August-September)
British premiere - Old Red Lion Theatre, Islington. Five-week season.
(September-October)
Publication of play-script by Harper/Collins, first edition sells out within four weeks.
1992 - Tasmanian premiere. Zootango Theatre Company at the historic Peacock Theatre, Hobart, Tasmania. Five-week season.
1993 - New Zealand premiere. The Fortune Theatre, Dunedin, South Island. Four- week season.
1994 - Western Australian premiere - Subiaco Theatre Centre, Perth, West Australia. Produced by Theatre West in association with the Black Swan Theatre Company. Five-week season.
Melbourne, Victoria. Guild Theatre, University of Melbourne production.
Two-week season.
Radio adaptation, produced by ABC Radio for national broadcast on ABC Classic FM.
1995 - Chalkdust Theatre Company, Q Theatre, Penrith, New South Wales.
1999 - Celtic Mouse Theatre Company. Cryptic Theatre Arts Centre, Dublin, Ireland.
NOTE: This play has been the subject of several articles. Stewart Donovan,
in his article for The Antigonish Review (St Francis Xavier University,
Antigonish, Nova Scotia) writes: “(Sixteen Words For Water) has all the
simplicity of Beckett and all the bathos too. Pound is the Ham and Clov,
the Nell and Nagg of Endgame. He is victim and persecutor, hero and
villain… Marshall-Stoneking’s play is wonderful theatre and it will
remain for a long time the best dramatic portrayal of the grim and tragic
figure that Ezra Pound became in the last quarter of his extraordinary life.”
